


waves

by 2PLYRGAY



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Jeremy Heere, Pining, Post-Squip, Slow Burn, based on a chloe moriondo song, god there are so many tags kill me, jeremy rlly just wants to help, michael’s got temper issues, why did i do this, why is evan hansen here ?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27384958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2PLYRGAY/pseuds/2PLYRGAY
Summary: Growing up changes people, and I think it's stupid.Growing up is stupid because you fall in love, and falling in love is awful. It's the worst. It's useless, and love is just there to cause pain. I think it's so stupid that I still wish this boy was mine; it's stupid, wanting to kiss his stupid face every time I see it. Wanting him to be in my future again is so stupid.You know what else is stupid? Me. I'm stupid.So it's no surprise that I'm the one who tends to fall in love with the ones who don't love me back. Because that's just what stupid people like me do.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy (Implied), Evan Hansen/Jared Kleinman (mentioned), Jake Dillinger/Michael Mell (if u squint), Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell, Rich Goranski/Jake Dillinger
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	1. i wanna be so much more

I'm drunk on a Tuesday night.

School has been so horribly stressful with SAT prep and shit like that, so I started drinking directly from the neck of the bottle. I don't normally drink. I'm not really a huge drinker to begin with. My dad would disown me if he found out what I was doing right now, but he's working some night shift again, so I'm alone. Again. It's been this way for a year, ever since he finally put pants on and decided to get a different job.

I have a stepmom, Heidi, and a stepbrother, Evan, but he goes to college and she's a nurse who also works at night. I don't see Evan unless if Heidi asks him to come visit. It's _weird_ how Evan's dating my cousin, because Jared's sort of his step-cousin? Which is pretty fucking weird, but I haven't ever mentioned the fact that Jared's my cousin to him because they're kind of cute together and I don't want to ruin _another_ good relationship.

I went off-topic. New topic now!

When I'm alone (or when I'm drunk), I tend to become emotional. I'm alone a lot now. I had friends two Novembers ago, but the group quickly dissolved by January of last year. And by the group dissolved, I mean that I got kicked out after an argument with my crush. _Former_ crush. Former best friend of twelve years.

I go to a different school now, but I haven't bothered to make any friends because the temporary boost of confidence that the SQUIP incident gave me just completely faded away. I don't go unnoticed. People talk to me. They think I'm a decent kid, and I think these kids are pretty awesome too. I just don't want to be friends with any of them.

I take another swig upon thinking about my old friends again. I once swore upon the River Styx that I wouldn't think about _him_. That's the stupidest oath I could've made, right? I think about Michael all the time. I try to pretend that the memory of him doesn't bother me. It shouldn't.

I take another drink.

I slide off my bed and onto the floor, stifling a sob. It's way past the time I normally go to bed. I have school tomorrow. I didn't finish my work. Why am I sitting on my floor, crying and drinking this nasty beer? Why can't I stop?

I feel tears spill down my heated cheeks, which annoys me. I hate crying because of how red my face gets when I cry. It makes me look like an apple. It's not because of the stereotype where boys 'aren't allowed' to cry. I've never applied to that one. I _like_ to cry. It gives me something to do. It's fun.

...Okay, maybe I should look for a hobby. I can't just cry in my spare time because it's 'fun'.

I sniffle loudly, wiping my tears with my sleeve. This sucks. I shouldn't _ever_ be allowed to be home alone. I decide to take another drink, which ends up finishing the bottle.

"Holy fuck." I whisper to the walls, a dopey grin on my face. "I just did that. Not even the _gods_ can save me now."

In the midst of my stupidity, the doorbell rings. I can hear it from my room because it's just that loud. So in this particular moment where I'm drunk off my ass, sitting on my bedroom floor, I can hear this doorbell scream at me repeatedly. I'm lowkey about to start screaming back.

Spoiler alert: I end up not doing it.

I finally manage to get to my feet, hardly able to stand. I hate being such a lightweight. This has always been an issue. I _know_ that there's a reason that I needed to stay sober tonight, besides homework and the entire fact that I'm underage. I just don't know what it is.

I stumble into the hallway and down the stairs, nearly tripping, like, eight times. I reassure the walls that I'm okay and that I'm sorry for running into them. The odd thing is, I'm so drunk that they _forgive_ me.

I reach the door, unsure of who I'm expecting to be there. Maybe my stepbrother, or my stepmom. Maybe she got locked out by accident. My foggy mind is filled with certain possibilities, all realistic and having to do with my family. Nobody else. My hand rests on the doorknob and I struggle to turn it for a second. "How the fuck do you—oh, there it goes."

I open the door, and my mind takes a moment to process. I look forward and I see a familiar face. The fact that I was just thinking about him and now he's here seems to mess with my head even more.

"...Michael?"

"Yo." The boy says, making an awkward peace sign.

The voice is Michael's, but just a little bit raspy. It's a voice I've missed so badly. Michael doesn't look like Michael. Like, yeah, he's still got tan skin and those little beauty marks and freckles of his and all his limbs are attached and everything. He just looks like he's aged...a lot. He might even look more like an adult than I do. He's still got the baby face, though. I just hope that he's still Michael, despite how scary he looks right now.

His hoodie and his clothes are all black, and his hair is shoved into a beanie. Well, most of it. Some messy curls are sticking out from underneath, and they look soft. I kind of want to touch his hair, but I stop myself. His glasses are missing, which probably makes it easier to see the dark circles underneath his eyes. He looks like hell, but in the hottest way ever.

Wait...

Oh no, he's _hot_.

In all honesty, I _was_ going to pull him into a hug the next time I saw him and never let go. I've spent so much time missing him and he's finally back. I was going to tell him about how much he's missed (when he really didn't miss much at all). But instead of following through with that great reunion I planned at the last second, I just stand here with a dumb look on my face and go:

"Uh—Guh—Wha?"

"No time to explain," He wipes his nose with his sleeve. "Are you just gonna stand there like an idiot or are you gonna let me in?"

I don't remember Michael being this mean.

It scares me, so I let him in. I stumble as I close the door behind me and try to show Michael to the living room, since that's what I usually do when we have a guest, except this time I'm a lot more panicky and I'm drunk. I must look like a baby deer trying to take its first steps. I hear Michael laugh behind me, and I turn around to see why.

"Jesus Christ, you're a trainwreck." He says with a cocky grin.

"Like you're any better." I shoot back, thanks to the lack of filter my big mouth has when I'm intoxicated. I quickly realize what I said and clap my hand over my mouth. I should have _not_ said that. How do I know? Because of the death stare Michael's giving me with those dark, piercing eyes.

A moment passes by, then that smirk reappears on his face. He doesn't seem completely pissed at me. "You have a point."

Michael reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, making my eyes widen. He's eighteen. I know that drinking alcohol at our age is illegal too, so I can't say much, but...they're _cigarettes_. They kill people, something that weed can't really do. I'd rather him continue smoking weed instead of cancer sticks.

He opens the pack and pulls a cigarette out, closing it just as quickly as he opened it. He digs around his pocket for something and pulls a lighter out. I quickly realize that he's about to start _smoking_ in my _house_.

"Yo, what the fuck?" I blurt out. Michael merely rolls his eyes.

He lights the end of the cigarette and takes a long drag after a moment. He looks at me. "Stress reliever, Heere. It's a stress reliever."

"Mike, my parents are gonna get pissed—"

" _Mike?_ Really?" He scoffs, blowing smoke into the air. I cringe. "You treat me so much like a child, it's insane."

"Would you prefer Mikey? Or Micha?"

"How about you don't refer to me at all, Heere?" Michael tells me. He's already getting on my last nerve. I have a first name for a reason: so you don't wear out the last one.

"Fuck you." I spit.

"I'm uninterested in that offer," He says. It takes me a moment, then I get super embarrassed and a little angry. I don't blame him for being uninterested, though. Michael looks around the living room, exhaling smoke. "Your house looks different. A lot different."

"It's because I have a new mom."

"Hey, now we both have a mom." I know he says this to try to piss me off, you know, because my real mom left when I was nine, but it hardly fazes me.

"You have _two._ " I hold up three fingers. Michael pushes two of my fingers down with his one hand, I watch as he does it, and leaves the index finger up.

"Had. I _had_ two," He mutters, removing his hand from mine. My eyes widen at what he says. The look I give him must be one that begs for explanation. "They broke up. Nice things never last."

I start to feel guilty. Things really _have_ changed, and not just for me.

Michael adjusts his beanie and licks his lips a little, something I used to notice too often. He drags on his cigarette again, which makes me nervous. He blows the chemical-filled smoke into the air and seems to be content. I'm careful not to inhale any of that.

"I...I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"I came out."

I'm pretty sure that if I were sober, I'd still be confused as to how a kid coming out to his gay parents could cause them to split up. I knew that Michael was questioning, he'd even told me himself, but I guess I wasn't around when he finally knew what he liked. If I _was_ around, would I have been the first person he told? Would I have been surprised? I had a crush on him, after all, so I probably would've been happy that I had a greater chance at being with him. Maybe it _would've_ been a surprise. But it doesn't seem like a surprise now.

"You're giving me the look," Michael growls, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Let me guess, you're gonna call me a _fag_ too? Just like the rest of the kids our age?"

"...Why would I do that?" I ask, voice quiet.

"Because _everyone_ in this dumb town is an _asshole,_ " He flops down onto the couch. I take a seat on the arm of the couch. " _I'm_ an asshole. My parents are assholes. My ex-boyfriend is an asshole. The police officer who gave me a ticket for my sucky parallel parking job is an asshole. You're _all_ assholes!"

He's got a point, but I _hate_ being considered an asshole.

"I wouldn't call you a f..." I trail off. I never actually came out to Michael, so he might think I'm straight. If he does, and if I said it, I know it'd piss him off.

"You gonna finish that sentence, Heere?" He snarls.

I sigh. "No. Sorry."

"Still apologizing," He complains. I'm a little hurt. I can't _not_ apologize. "Dumbass."

"I know," I say, watching as Michael stares at the succulent on the table. He puts his cigarette out in the dirt and leaves the cigarette butt there, plain for anyone to see. He seems proud of his work. I feel the opposite way about it. Heidi is going to kill me when she finds out.

For the first time in a few minutes, Michael's eyes meet mine. They look a lot less black, now that we're in better lighting. The bags under his eyes are still there, and they're not fading away any time soon. Just from this eye contact, I get a warm, tingly feeling in my stomach.

And that's when Michael looks away.


	2. at least i felt something new

My room smells like cigarette smoke, and I can blame Michael for that. He's only been here for an hour and I'm already at my limit.

We're sitting on the floor together. He's just finished his second cigarette of the night, and he's extinguished it on my bedroom floor, somehow. I watch him as he fidgets with the cigarette butt, squeezing it between his fingers.

The alcohol has worn off a lot, leaving me with quite the headache. Michael isn't helping the pain, either. He keeps humming and throwing one of my pencils against my desk over and over again and tapping his fingers against the floor. Like, I get that he's fidgety and shit, and so am I, but the noise is _all_ I can think about.

He took off his beanie a while ago, revealing the mess of thick, dark curls that sits atop his head. I kind of just want to bury my hands in his hair, and maybe rip out a chunk or two. I didn't think it could get this curly again. It kind of makes him looks like how he did when we were really young.

"I'm bored," he announces, tossing the cigarette butt in my direction; I flinch. "Gonna go use your bathroom."

"Okay," I say, watching him get up. "Just—please don't smoke in there."

"Oh, believe me," Michael laughs. There's some sort of weird, slightly sexual undertone to it. "I won't."

And then he leaves. With that tone, I already know he's going to go jerk off in my bathroom. Jesus Christ, I think he's getting a little too comfortable here.

How am I supposed to tell my parents that we have an uninvited house guest? They already know that Michael and I aren't friends anymore. Things will look weird since I made a huge deal of our friendship ending.

Okay, my parents are old and stressed, so I doubt they even remember that breakdown, but still—I can't _not_ overthink it.

I have so many questions, though I know none of them will be answered tonight. I can't help but wonder; why is Michael acting like this? Why'd he even show up in the first place? Why'd Beth and Lucy split up? It can't _seriously_ be because Michael's gay; that would be insane.

Wait, wait, holy shit. Michael Mell is _gay._ I'm not homophobic or anything—that would be _stupid,_ being bi and homophobic—I'm just thinking. That's cool. Has he had a boyfriend? Does he have one right now? If not, is he interested in having a boyfriend?

No, fuck, that's too weird. Normal questions, Jeremy. You need to think of _normal_ questions.

It doesn't take long for Michael to finish up in the bathroom. I wonder if he's just a quick finisher or if he even—nope. I don't want to finish that thought.

"I'm back, bitch," he greets me, taking a seat right next to me on the floor once again.

"Oh, great," I sigh. "Did you wash your hands?"

"Yeah, I washed my hands. I wasn't raised in a fucking barn," he snorts. He throws the pencil against the desk again.

And again. And _again._

After he does it a few more times, I get fed up. I snatch the pencil away from him. Immediately, he glares at me; those dark, wide eyes pierce through my soul, and even threaten my existence.

"What are you doing with that?"

"This."

I snap the pencil in half.

"Dude!" Michael groans. "Fine, I'll find something else to do."

"Good," I say. "My head hurts."

Michael pays no attention to my complaint. He fingers the rips in his jeans, humming softly to himself.

That keeps him entertained for an entire five minutes. It's mesmerizing, honestly. I'm interested in how _this_ can shut him up for five whole minutes.

Right when we expect it the least, the door opens. Light pours into my room. Michael stops; I stop. We glance at each other for a moment, and when we make eye contact, we immediately look away.

"Is that a girl?"

Michael's trying to hold back his laughter now.

"Hey, Dad," I say with plenty of fake enthusiasm in my voice, "do you mind _knocking?_ "

"Oh, that's a boy," he realizes. "On a school night?"

Cue the secondhand embarrassment.

"Yes, Dad, I have a boy over on a school night. Go away."

"Alright. I'll leave you two alone," he says, "but I want this door to stay open."

"We aren't going to fuck! Go away!"

Oh god. Did I just say that? Yes, I did. The room is so awkwardly silent now, and my face is so flushed. I'm about to get in trouble in front of Michael; I'll never get to live _that_ down.

Surprisingly, though, instead of getting onto me for my language, Dad leaves and closes my door.

"Your dad thinks you're gay," Michael comments, wearing a stupid, mocking grin across his face.

That's where he's wrong. My dad doesn't think I'm gay—he knows I'm bisexual. I came out to my family a few months ago.

I can't tell Michael about that, though. It hurts to lie to him, but I don't want to have this conversation. I know that if we do, he'll try to bring up my old crush, and then we'll fight again like before, and I don't want that to happen.

"Yeah, well, I'm not."

"Oh, yeah? Then why does your dad think—"

"I'm not gay, okay? Please just—just stop."

"I was just fucking with you," Michael says, eyebrows furrowed. "You don't have to get all angry at me."

"I'm not getting angry,"

"Yeah, okay," he retorts; his little 'tsk' paired with an eyeroll is what _almost_ sets me off.

"What's your fucking problem?" I ask.

" _You're_ my fucking problem!"

"Well, it's not like I asked you to come here!"

"Oh, come _on!_ " He says, and I flip him off. "Don't be fucking rude!"

Are you kidding me? Aside from what I just did, I don't see how I'm the one being rude. He just came here (and I still have no idea why he's here!) and he won't leave or even use his manners. He's smoking in my house and jerking off in my bathroom and insulting me to my face, and I don't even know what the fuck is going on anymore.

"It's just so bad with me around, isn't it? Even if it's just for _one night,_ " he scoffs. "I just make you feel _so_ awful, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do! And you know it, and you just fucking love it. You love making me feel awful."

With that, the egotistical troubled teenager persona goes away for a moment. Michael looks sorry. He looks _hurt._ For a moment, I actually regret ever opening my mouth. I probably just _broke_ this boy.

A moment passes by, then two. Silently, Michael gets up on his feet again. He adjusts that stupid black hoodie, tousles those stupid curls a bit, grabs his beanie.

His eyes meet mine once more, and boy, does he look pissed. I have no idea what comes next, and that's the scariest feeling I've felt in a while.

"This was a mistake," he finally says. "I should've ran off to Jake's house. He would've been nicer to me about this, even after all the shit we went through."

I can't seem to shut up. "That's because Jake is a nice guy."

"Fuck you!"

The words should hurt more, but they're weak. They feel like that joking _fuck you_ my friends and I would always throw around—except there's no joke here. It's more of a pathetic excuse of an insult.

(I still flinch, though. I think that's just me being a pansy.)

"I don't even know why I thought you changed. You're still a dick," Michael says. "I hope I never have to see you again."

And those are the words that hurt the most.

But they don't stop me from getting on my feet, and they don't make me any less ready to make Michael stay.

"Please don't go,"

I grab his hand, and he's quick to pull away. Fear—I see the amount of fear in his eyes. He's scared now, but why? Why is he _scared?_ I get that I'm really being a dick and I made him angry, but I don't want him to be scared, or angry, or upset. I just want to fix things.

I just want to make things better again.

"Please?" I beg.


	3. sweet little baby in a world full of pain

"Jeremy!"

Shit.

I push Michael onto the floor. I don't mean to, it just happens in the midst of my panic. It doesn't seem to please him, but then again, why would it?

"Ow! The hell?!"

"I can't let anyone know you're here!"

"So? You don't fucking push me, you moron!"

"Shut up or she's gonna hear you, you little bitch baby!"

Michael's eyebrows furrow together; the confusion is so clear on his face. "Who the fuck—"

"My stepmom, _fucknut! _"__

____

____

And right after that, my door opens again. My head immediately snaps upwards to make _direct _eye contact with Heidi. An awkward second passes, then another.__

____

____

"Hey," I smile, except it feels so weird and it's just forced on my face, "what's—what's up?"

This is the part where I notice she's still wearing her scrubs. She looks exhausted, but she's smiling. You can see that even after being completely busy all day, she can smile a genuine smile. That's something I can't ever pull off.

"Come say hi to our visitor."

It's literally the middle of the night. It's normal for Heidi to get off work this time of night, but for us to have a visitor? While I'm still (secretly) hungover? I'm trying to make it make sense.

But I don't refuse. I just say "Okay?", and I hope for the best.

Michael perks up after she's gone, "A visitor?"

"Yeah, but not for you."

"Well, I got _that _, dipshit."__

____

____

I hold my hand out for Michael to grab, but he grabs my wrist instead. I help him up anyway. He still looks pissed as all hell, but I couldn't really care any less anymore.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you and saying all that shit," I apologize, since it's the kind thing to do. "...And for pushing you."

Michael stares at me for a moment, then looks away as if he's repulsed by the sight of me. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the truth.

"Yeah, you should be," he finally says, and we leave it at that.

Despite my pleads for him to stay behind, we end up leaving my room together. It's the one time he actually decides to shut his mouth. Let's just say it's awkward, though awkward is an understatement.

He sits on the railing of the stairs, considers sliding down it for a moment, then he decides against it. If things weren't so painfully awkward, I would laugh.

When we get to the bottom of the stairs, I spot our visitor— _my _visitor. It's Evan. My stepbrother who I rarely talk to is sitting here in the big reclining chair in the living room.__

____

____

Nice.

Evan stops playing with the zipper on his dark grey jacket when he notices me. "Oh, hey,"

"Hey," I shoot an awkward finger gun, "what's up?"

Evan seems to genuinely think it through, but just shrugs in response to my half-assed question. He looks at Michael instead, confusion yet fascination written on his face.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I could ask you the same thing, twink," Michael says, and Evan's fascination goes away.

"This prick is Michael."

"Michael," Evan says blankly, trying to put two and two together. "Like, _the _Michael? The one you always—"__

____

____

"Shut up," I sneer.

"Oh," he says. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," I say, "just...don't, okay?"

Evan gives an awkward nod, then goes back to fidgeting with his jacket. I hate the awkwardness. My head still hurts, and it feels like it's getting worse.

Right then, Heidi literally shows up right out of nowhere, which nearly scares the hell out of me.

"You two getting along?" She teases.

"Sure," I awkwardly respond.

She looks at Michael (who I honestly forgot was there for a moment), then at me. "Jeremy? Who's this?"

"Oh, well, um—"

"I'm Michael," he says, and I nod along. He does another awkward-looking peace sign. It gives me secondhand embarrassment.

"Is he your..." She starts, but she doesn't finish. I don't get it, but Michael does; he starts giggling.

"What's so funny?" I ask him, and he just grins.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"What?! Where'd you get _that _from?"__

____

____

"Yep," Michael grabs my hand and leans into my side, "yeah, sure am."

What the _fuck? ___

____

____

"Oh," Heidi smiles again, "well, hi there. You know it's a school night, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he smiles. It gets on my nerves and makes my heart flutter at the same time. "I was just about done here anyway."

"Oh, I see. Do you need a ride home?"

"Nope,"

"I'll get him home, no worries. You should get some rest."

"Better make it quick, _soldier, _" she says. As you can tell, she's picked up on my Dad's nicknames for me; I don't like it. "You still have school."__

____

____

"I will, I promise,"

"Alright. Goodnight, you two," she says to Evan and I, "and you—" she points to Michael, "I guess I'll be seeing you around more often."

Somehow that makes Michael so happy. "I think your mommy likes me," he says after she leaves the room.

"What the _hell, _Michael? Why did you tell her that?"__

____

____

"I knew it would make you angry. It's funny when you're angry." Michael giggles. I flick his forehead with my finger and my thumb. "Ow," he whines, mumbling a swear word after.

"You're just adding to my headache. Get me some ibuprofen from the kitchen. Thanks."

"Yes, sir," he nods and turns to the kitchen. As he walks away, I hear him mutter a word that sounds suspiciously like 'kinky.' I want to hit him.

When we're both sure that Michael's no longer listening, Evan goes straight to interrogating me about this whole thing. "Okay, since when are you two dating? I thought you hated him."

"We're not actually—Jesus fuck, Evan," I sigh. "Michael and I aren't a thing."

"So you aren't dating him."

"That's what I just said,"

It's quiet for a second, then Evan shrugs. "Now that I think about it, Michael's kinda cute."

"Hey! The fuck, man?!" I say, and Evan looks a little too taken aback by my reaction. "You have a boyfriend!"

"Jared?"

"Yeah, Jared! Who do you think I'm talking about?"

An awkward smile appears on my stepbrother's face. "Well, you see—"

"What happened to Jared...?"

"That's over with," he says. "It's been over with for, like, months."

"And you're _just _telling me now?!"__

____

____

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no," I say, but I'm sure my frown contradicts that statement. "I'm glad that you're happy now, I swear. I just— _really _shipped you two, but I'll get over it."__

____

____

"Thanks...?"

I nod, and quickly realize that was an awkward thing to say, and an awkward thing to do. Everything we say is awkward. Who seriously allowed us to be brothers? 

Whatever. Not like overthinking it will fix it or anything. I finally take a seat on the end of the couch, and right after I do that, Michael re-enters the room with a cup.

"I hope you know your kitchen doesn't have any good food in it," he complains. "But whatever. Here's your medicine, bitch boy," he hands me two ibuprofen and the glass of water. Aw, he remembered that I hate dry swallowing pills. Maybe he's got a heart after all.

"Well, aren't you the sweetest thing?"

"I'm nice when I want to be," Michael tells my stepbrother, and that's all I think he's going to tell him. 

I'm a little hesitant to take the pills, but I convince myself I'll be fine and I take them anyway. It feels weird, how Michael's staring at me while I drink the water he gave me. He doesn't look away, either.

"Hopefully that'll be enough to cure your hangover," he remarks, and I glare at him.

"Shut up, man."

Michael's little comment doesn't seem to make Evan's impression of me any better. "What the hell, Jeremy? Alcohol?"

"Sometimes I'll drink to cope with stress," I set the glass on that table next to the couch. "That's all."

"I usually just have an anxiety attack and it'll eventually blow over."

"Well, I'm not like you, Evan, you know what I mean?"

Another awkward nod signifies the ending of this conversation. I focus my attention on something— _someone _else; Michael lights another cigarette, right there in the middle of the living room.__

____

____

"Is he being serious right now?" Evan asks.

"One hundred percent," I sigh.

Michael looks up at me, grins, then he flips me off.

"Thanks, babe," I say. "You're so fucking sweet to me."

And suddenly, everything seems to stop. That's what breaks Michael—again. He looks like he's seen a fucking ghost, and I don't know how to snap him out of it. I go to reach for him, and he immediately jerks away from my touch.

"Michael?"

He looks down at the ground. "That's too much. Sorry."

"You can tell my stepmom that we're dating but I can't jokingly call you babe?"

"No, you can't, okay? I'm sorry."

He still apologizes. I always remember how he was constantly apologizing for tiny things, especially after the squip. The old Michael is still there; I've just gotta dig him back out of the hellhole that is his life.

This is great, right? I can fix this. I can totally fix this.

"Shit. Well, um, I'm headed to bed," Evan announces, breaking my train of thought. He stands up, "I've still got classes tomorrow night—tonight? I don't know. But there's some shit I gotta do before that. Also, I can't stand to be around cigarette smoke."

"Alright. Night, Ev,"

"Night, Jeremy," he says, then he looks at Michael. "and you too...Michael."

"Goodnight, stranger," Michael says. It's the nicest thing he's said to anyone all night. We watch as Evan makes his way to the guest room, then it gets quiet again.

And now we're alone.

Michael takes a seat next to me on the couch, and I accidentally scoot away. In response, he blows his cigarette smoke in my face. Disgusting.

"You realize you need to leave soon, right?" I ask him, trying my best to fan the smoke away with my hand. "Like, _today _at the latest."__

____

____

"I don't know where to go," he says. "I'll figure it out."

"School?"

"I don't go to school anymore," he tells me. "Got expelled."

"What?!"

"Fights and stuff. Momma wasn't very happy,"

Part of me wants to go: Fights? What the hell, Michael, you got into _fights? _But the other part of me knows that if I say that, he can and will probably fight me too. So I just keep my mouth shut.__

____

____

"Th-things just got worse after I came out. They started arguing? And it felt like it was my fault," he takes another drag on his cigarette, "so I started this whole phase to get their attention, and it _really _backfired on me. All I did was get myself disowned and my parents split up."__

____

____

Oh.

"That's...awful,"

"Well, duh," he rolls his eyes, which quickly widen. "Holy _shit, _I talk too much. You just...there's something you do to me. It's like, it's like I need to tell you everything. All my secrets."__

____

____

"You can tell me anything. I'm here for you, Michael."

"Thanks," he says. "You're still a dick, though."

"Yeah," I say, "sorry."

I expect him to make a snide remark about me apologizing again, but he doesn't say anything. I watch him fidget with the end of his hoodie string.

I only just now realize how sleepy I'm getting. Of course, it's right when Michael's nice. The timing is so convenient.

Well, I guess it's no use fighting sleep now that it's finally come to me. I'm tired as all hell, so I let my eyes fall shut, just for a little bit.

It's quiet. I can hear the heater running, I'm focusing on my own breathing, and my mind is at ease. Before I actually process it, I'm actually well on my way to falling asleep.

The peace doesn't seem to last very long.

"Wake up," Michael pokes my forehead twice. "Go lay down."

I open my eyes, and his face is so close to mine. The cigarette isn't there anymore. I don't even bother to ask what he did with it.

"I can't leave you."

"You're practically asleep," he says. "Go, you fucker."

"No, you're gonna do some dumb shit and get me in trouble again,"

He sighs. "You're an idiot."

I flip him off again, and this time he laughs. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth; I just let go. I let myself smile a stupid, sleepy, lopsided smile.

Michael smiles too, and I finally find comfort again in those brown eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this kinda sucked but uh i hope everyone is enjoying the fic so far B)


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